Lever to Move the World
by The Exile
Summary: After an argument with Noon, Ratchet leaves the Shining Force behind for a while and goes on a journey. References to other games because I couldn't resist the urge.
1. Darkbargainer

1.

_Thud. Clank. Clank. Thud._

_Just keep on moving. Moving in a straight line. Forget the rain falling in ice-cold sheets, plastering wet fur to your emaciated face, freezing him to the bone.  
Ignore the endless rattling noise, the spray of mud. Forget the part that just fell off. Nowhere to get the parts even if you could repair it. Don't listen to  
the voice ringing in your ears._

_"The Guild has no shelter for a Darkbargainer, Manipul!"_

_Don't listen! Ignore the jeers of the red-eyed, sharp-toothed faces as they bar the gates behind you and pelt you with mud. Concentrate on keeping going, on  
preserving some warmth as you huddle inside the cockpit of the mechanical suit, condensation and mud blinding the view port, tears blurring your eyes again. Try to  
go in a straight line, to head towards the warmth, the vague, soft light._

_"Manipul!"_

_See? Its getting warmer already. Or are you just dying? Hard to tell, here in the darkness, in the lifeless mechanical womb._

_"Ratchet!"_

_No, the machine has life. The machine has a pulse, of sorts, a rhythm. It is moving. It is humming. It gives off warmth. It has a purpose, seems to know where its  
going._

_"Ratchet!"_

_Do you know where you're going, Ratchet?_

--

**"RATCHET!"**

Ratchet's heartbeat quickened. His ears pricked up, his fur sensitive. Someone had grabbed him. He didn't like being grabbed. Instinctively, he jumped up, taut as  
a rope, and sank his teeth deep into the offending hand.

"You little furry bastard!" exclaimed a high-pitched female voice.

"What do you expect, sneaking up on him like that? Come on, I know how to handle him."

Another hand - a long, slender, furry hand - grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, lifted him up and dropped him. His limbs flailed. He landed with a splash in a  
tub full of soapy water. Spluttering, he grabbed the side of the tub and pulled himself up, gasping for breath. Before he could escape, the hand grabbed him again  
and attacked him with a scrubbing brush. He let out a tirade of Goblin expletives, popping his retractable claws and slashing wildly.

"Quick! Grab the hairdryer!" yelled Grace, holding the struggling Goblin at arm's length.

"Did you use the sweet-smelling soap like I asked you to?" asked Masqurin, "I've got some ribbons!"

That was the last straw. Grinning evilly, Ratchet reached behind his left ear and pulled out a tiny metal box with an aerial, a big red button and a couple of  
levers. He pressed the button.

**STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP.**

--


	2. The Journey Begins

2.

Masqurin screamed. Releasing Ratchet, Grace dove out of the way and ran to one of the windows. The steam suit had come to life and, with clumsy, jerky movements -  
the remote control wasn't that efficient, especially when clogged with water - was heading towards the two girls, flattening any unfortunate furniture in its  
path. It stopped at the bathtub and stood still, allowing its master to clamber up it and into the cockpit.

Then another figure came running in - male, Elven, his dark grey hair fastened carefully into two braids, dressed in the long robes and tabard of a master  
mage. He looks like a girl, thought Ratchet. Despite his effeminate beauty, his expression was serious, the look in his eyes as hard and  
cold as the icy shards he enjoyed summoning on the battlefield. Nobody messed with Noon when he meant business.

"What in Bulzome's name is going on?" he demanded in his soft but dangerous voice, his accent strongly Elven.

Masqurin just pointed at Ratchet and screamed. Noon looked at the mess, then up at the suit, and sighed.

"Keep that machine under control, okay?" he said, "Otherwise, I'll dismantle it for you with a fourth level Bolt spell."

Ratchet shook with rage. He glared straight at Masqurin, his teeth bared in a rictus snarl. Then he turned his machine around, set it to full speed and stomped  
out of the Shining Force Headquarters.

"Ratchet, wait!" said Grace. But the Goblin did not wait.

He didn't slow down even after he had run right out of the town gates. He clanked over the rolling hills, enjoying the sensation of the wind rushing past his  
face. The sun was shining and his fur was already drying out. He knew his machine appreciated the exercise too. It enjoyed running for miles, flattening the grass  
beneath its mighty iron feet, a Titan, a Colossus. He often knew what his machine was thinking. It was odd, really. He no longer even pondered it. It was just  
part of his life. He went where his machine wanted to go as often as he did where he wanted to go.  
_  
Why had his machine led him to the Shining Force? Did it want him to have friends? Shelter? In return for what? What did they want from him? What was he to  
these people apart from a machine out of control? What could he ever be to anyone apart from a traitor, a Darkbargainer? And what were they to him? Why did he  
hang around with these people? All they did was pull his hair and deride his genius._

_Why had he ever stopped running?_

--

"You mustn't treat Ratchet like that, okay?" Synbios told his childhood friends - the bright, endlessly energetic young mage and her shy cleric companion. Grace  
was like an older sister to Masqurin. The gentle Cantaul was an orphan, raised in a convent. Although she had a happy, peaceful upbringing, she was never entirely at peace with herself, never felt complete. She treated the Shining Force like a big extended family. "He's not a teddy bear. He has feelings. He's very easily hurt."

"We were only washing him!" said Masqurin, "He never washes. His fur's a mess, he smells of rust and he's always covered in engine oil."

Synbios had to agree with that. The Goblin hardly ever did anything but work, eat and sleep. He didn't talk to the rest of the Force unless he was discussing  
battle strategy or enthusing wildly about some new machine he'd seen and wanted to build his own. He didn't leave his workshop unless he needed supplies. Nobody  
knew anything about his life before joining the Force or his opinions on anything. Kahn had tried asking him why he had been working for the Vandals and he almost  
bit the monk's face off.

He turned to look at Noon, who had his head buried in an arcane tome, a frown on his face. Better not interrupt him, thought Synbios, or he'll lose control of  
whatever he's about to summon. Does Noon know anything about Ratchet? They had spent a long time in Quonos together before Synbios had met either of them. Noon  
had said... he had said he was responsible for the Vandals coming to the town. Had he and Ratchet been working together, back when they...

Synbios shuddered. He didn't want to think about it. He looked back at Grace - at Grace's pure, serene face. She was no longer an innocent little convent child -  
not with the things they'd seen and fought - but she remained untainted by any of the evil they had encountered. She simply fought it off without complaint. Her  
will was her shield.

"If he keeps himself clean and dresses up a bit more..." said Masqurin, "We can find him a girlfriend. There must be a lot of Goblin ladies around who'd be  
queueing up for a guy like Ratchet!"

"Masqurin!" exclaimed Grace, making the young mage giggle and blush. Noon tapped his pen irritably.

"What? If he has feelings, then he must feel love, right? Maybe that's where he's gone! To see his secret love!"

Noon sighed, placed his pen back in the holder, his book under his arm and Egressed out of the room.

--


	3. The Valkyrie

Ratchet was running out of fuel.

He directed his machine over to the river bank, hopped down from the cockpit and started uncoiling the tubes that siphoned off the water that would be heated as steam to power the suit. It gurgled and hissed happily. He watched it carefully to make sure the tube didn't come loose. It wasn't a good idea to be standing in the way if it did.

He had no idea where he was or how long he had been away from Headquarters. His sense of direction had always been terrible. He tended to go by the principle that if you went far enough in the opposite direction to the way you'd been, you eventually ended up where you started. I'm sure I'll find my way back, he told himself, I always do. As long as they don't up and leave without me. If they do, then sod them.

That was when he heard the noise. It was a powerful, rhythmic 'WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP' and it was slowly growing louder.

He looked up. What he saw in the sky made him gasp in reverence and almost throw himself to the ground. It was an enormous machine - several hundred times the size of his suit, he reckoned - shaped like a mushroom with one baleful green eye. Somehow - Ratchet could think of no earthly way something that size or shape could fly - it wheeled itself across the sky. It called to him. Called to him like some Promethean angel, its hum a choir in praise of the genius of its creators - who must be almost as brilliant as Ratchet himself

I must follow it, Ratchet decided firmly. Quickly filling the tank, he cranked the levers up to full speed and stomped off as fast as his machine could carry him in the direction of the thing in the sky. The opposite direction to Shining Force HQ

--

Crashing through the undergrowth, flattening everything in his path, he made good progress. The humming was gradually growing louder and the thing in the sky larger. As he twiddled the controls of his suit, Ratchet made plans as to how he was going to get up into the sky to reach the machine. As yet, his suit couldn't fly. He had a few designs for attaching propellors or a pair of wings to it but he hadn't yet managed to get it to work. The most he had been able to do was to crash land it in the middle of the Church and get himself barred from services for a week, not that he ever went to church. He could always climb a tree, he supposed. It would mean leaving his suit behind though. Maybe he could make a catapult out of something...

Suddenly he heard a roar. He blinked and looked ahead. He was heading towards a forest ravine. This area was very verdant, almost jungle-like, and he couldn't see the floor to find out how far it was down. In the branches, however, he saw several large, shifting shapes that he recognised. Harpies. Wyverns. Griffons. He heard the bark of a hellhound and the obscene hissing of a lizardman. The area was infested with monsters!

He brought his machine to a halt. There were rather a lot of them, he mused, and only one of me. Maybe I should just avoid them? He looked around for a possible way to sidetrack them. The ravine stretched out as far as he could see, a scar in the land. The machine was hovering in the middle of it. There was no way to bypass the valley if he wanted to reach the machine.

Snarling, he let the red mist come over him. The battle rage stirred in his blood - the wild, vicious rage of the old Goblins, his ancestors in the hills. He started up his machine again and started pushing buttons and pulling levers, powering up the machine's two massive fists, the anchor - another giant detachable metal fist on a chain - and the launchers for the various bombs he had stashed away in his suit. His suit joined in his enthusiasm for the battle with a low growl. A scream of fury escaped his lips and he charged over the edge of the ravine.

--

Two Harpies died swiftly from a blow they never saw, crushed beneath the weight of the steam tank that dropped on top of them. It crashed through the treetop canopy, sending up a shower of branches and leaves, before plummeting to the bottom of the ravine. Fortunately for Ratchet, it landed in a bush, relatively undamaged apart from badly scratched paintwork and a loose valve that did more damage to the hellhound that tried to pounce on him but recoiled when a superheated blast of steam almost removed its face. Ratchet snarled again, swung his anchor around and launched it at the nearest lizardman. The beast brought its large but crude axe up to parry the weapon but succeeded only in disarming itself as the anchor smashed into it and wrapped around it, crushing it. Ratchet pulled the lever back again and the anchor retracted. This took some time as it was still wrapped around the lizardman's corpse. Two more lizardmen took the opportunity to charge him, hacking at his suit with their axes. He swore and kicked at one, knocking it back, but the other lizardman made a nasty dent in the steel armour plating. The machine's other two fists swiped at it. Eventually one hit, crushing its skull. The anchor was retracted now and Ratchet plowed onwards through the forest, following the sound of the flying machine that was now a deafening roar, pulverising anything that happened to be in his way. He was only dimly aware of how much damage he was taking. Either he would survive to repair it later - and he, being a genius, could repair anything - or he would die and the point would be rather moot. All that mattered was that elegant new goddess, that metal archangel, that...

Valkyrie. Yes. A Valkyrie.

A Harpy's screech diverted his attention as it dove at him, cunning enough to aim for him rather than the suit. He jabbed at the controls, bringing a huge steel fist around to backhand it. It wailed and fell from the sky, covering his suit in blood and feathers.

Then he was suddenly bathed in a crimson light. He instinctively tried to throw his arms over his face and curl up into a ball but he found that he couldn't move. Fighting back the panic that rose in his mind, he forced his eyes to swivel upwards.

A ray of light shone from the flying machine's eye. It was beaming directly at him.

--


	4. Audience with Bulzome

Paralysed, his arms pinned to his sides, Ratchet could only watch as he was lifted bodily out of his machine and into the sky. He was being pulled through the beam of light up into the flying machine. It looked even more impressive up close. That thing must be able to house the entire Force, he thought. How did such an enormous machine fly without any propellors? He decided that magic was probably involved. He could smell the magic  
emanating from it like a thick black rusty ooze. It set his fur on end. It wasn't friendly magic. He could smell the difference between a healing spell from Grace or a badly aimed Bolt from Masqurin without even looking. It was a useful talent; he always knew when to duck out of the way. This magic was stronger, wilder and tasted of raw evil. He wanted to snarl at it but he couldn't even move his face any more.

Then the voices began.

Manipul.

Who was using his birthname? He didn't use it any more, only Ratchet, his guildname. Nobody in the Force knew that name except possibly Noon. Was there another Goblin here? It didn't sound like a Goblin's voice. It was deep and booming, reverberating in the chambers of his mind, calling out to every part of his psyche. It was a dark voice, soft, tempting, overwhelming.

_Manipul._

"Who is it?" he spoke in his head.

_You know who I am. I am always with you. I am part of your nature._

"I've never heard you before now..."

_That is because you have never come this close to me before. How devout of you to come for worship, little one._

"Tell me who you are or I'll bite you!" he snapped irritably. He didn't like mysterious voices. He was an engineer, not a mage or priest.

_My name is Bulzome. I am your dark master. Come to me, little one. Return to the darkness. It is your true nature. Ratchet al Manipul. Servant of the Vandals. Darkbargainer._

"No!" he screeched, "I was sold! They forced me to work for him!"

_Then why didn't you escape?_

"I couldn't get out!" he insisted. He felt his will draining. He wanted to crawl into a deep hole and never come out. The dark god's will was so intense, so enticing, that power...

_A genius of your caliber couldn't escape from a simple switch trap?_

"He would have killed me if he discovered me! I..."

_Are you sure you didn't want to work for him? All those dark secrets? Lost teachings uncovered? Devices that the insipid mortals, content with their lot, would never dare to activate? He let you do anything you wished, didn't he? As long as you worked for him occasionally, as long as you didn't try and escape... you could fulfill your every twisted desire, build anything that came into your head, give full rein to that brilliant insanity._

Ratchet tried to protest but the words wouldn't even come out any more. He felt himself being reduced to a child again, curled up under a bush, hiding from the wrath of an entire Guild whose workshop was now on fire.

_That suit of yours... that was your greatest work, wasn't it? The Vandal used to tell me about you, Manipul. He spoke only good words of you. You and Noon. Such high standards, that mage. Such art, such flair in every single incantation. The things he summoned... if he had only stayed with me, he would have had entire legions of Hell at his heels. And you... I can only imagine what a brilliant mind like yours would dream up._

_But you have a second chance, you know. After all, you were brave enough to come and find me. If you wish to serve me as my most beloved General... find and kill Prince Medion._

"Don't tell me what to do!" screeched Ratchet.

_You don't want to? Well, I will show you something that might make you change your mind._


	5. Defiance

Suddenly Ratchet could see again - in fact, he could see everything on the Continent. It was as if he was seeing directly through the machine's eyes. Towns looked like tiny smudges on an endless map of green, mountains like small brown bumps. He turned his head and the world wheeled around before him. At first this made him want to throw up but as he got used to the sensation, he found that he was really starting to enjoy it. It was exhilirating, flying so freely in the sky without a care, looking down on the world as though he was a God. If this was what it was like to sit at the controls of the machine... his yellow eyes widened, his breathing rapid with an almost fevered anticipation.

Then his vision lurched forward without warning - the machine seemed determined that he surrender his lunch - and he could see the area more closely. It was Aspia. There had been some kind of massive explosion just outside the gates and people were running around in a panic, fetching buckets of water, putting out fires, tending to the injured. Ratchet's ears pricked up. Whatever had made such a big explosion, he wanted it. Now.

He soon saw what it was. And his blood boiled, his lips peeling back into a snarl.

"MY TANK!" he yelped, unable to form words for what he felt. The big tank. Wrecked. His commission from Governor Garvin. His life's work. The machine he had spent five years lovingly renovating, that he knew every detail of. He could still see those diagrams - those functionally beautiful diagrams of the perfect siege engine - when he closed his eyes.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he shrieked at the top of his voice, his shrill voice high-pitched enough to break the glass in his goggles.

_Medion did that, said Bulzome's voice in his head. Governor Garvin wouldn't surrender, so he killed him and destroyed the tank. He wanted the tank for himself. But he couldn't fight Garvin without destroying it. He removed it from the world rather than let an enemy have it. Isn't that barbaric? The legacy of the ancients, destroyed in a petty war. They're going to take the Colossus from us, too. This machine as well._

"NO!" Ratchet felt a sudden urge to place himself protectively between the machine and the outside world. That's stupid, a small voice said to him, its a massive flying fortress, it doesn't need protecting. But the tank was supposed to be invincible too...

_Kill Medion, and I will allow you to control the Walcuray and the Colossus. They will be only the first two of the wonders we will uncover together, Manipul. This new world will be filled with your inventions._

Ratchet clutched his head, his sharp claws piercing his crude leather flying hat and digging into his temples. Bulzome was making sense... help me... but it rubs my fur up the wrong way... its wrong... wrong...

_What's so wrong about it? Is it becaus__e Elbesem told you so? You DO know what Elbesem worshippers used to do to Goblins before the Reformation, don't you? You know how many died, their homes destroyed?_

No! That's not it! Its because...

Something caught Ratchet's attention. Two small figures poking at the remains of the great tank. They pulled out a sheet of armour plating, inspected it and handed it to another, who stowed it away on the back of a horse and cart.

Goblins. Crankshaft, his best friend, Rivet, his rival, a grotty girl, and little Grendel, who was a baby when Ratchet last saw her and still didn't have her Guildname yet. They were already trying to think of a way to restore the Tank, or at least make something from what they understood of its design. Failing that, nick all the scrap metal they could from it. Come to think of it, thought Ratchet, I could probably build the thing from memory.

He turned to look at the machine, a look of utter, primal antipathy in his eyes.

"Its because I won't be the Goblin to drag our race back down into the darkness!" he declared, "Look at us! We used to be savages - incapable of doing anything except killing and mating - and now we're the most civilised race in Aspinia! We have our own towns, our own economy, we're renowned for our technological advances and theatre productions... all because we resisted the darkness! Because we went and made something of ourselves! That's what a Goblin is! And thats what I am! I won't be your pawn or anyone's! Not even for a flying mechanical magic mushroom I can probably make by myself if Noon handles the magic part! You can take your Walcuray and your Colossus and shove it where its most painful!"

_Then if you will not cooperate, said the voice, almost genuinely sadly, I'm afraid I'll have to wipe you out of existence._

The light pulsed faster, stronger, its piercing brilliance blinding him. Ratchet felt his entire body being crushed, his breath leaving him. Agony racked him. He blacked out.


	6. Egress

The battle had been long and hard. Medion was exhausted.

His Force had already returned to Headquarters, leaving him to go and handle the record-keeping. Thanking the vicar, he staggered out of the church to rejoin them. He desperately needed Ullud's attentions. His armour was shattered, his rapier caked in blood. What felt like a thousand wounds were taking their toll on him and he felt drained, barely able to stand up. He would also welcome a hot bath and a beer, something to help him forget the terrible battle. They had only barely survived the battle. He had personally paid for ten resurrections. It had been their hardest yet. Deep inside, he knew that it wasn't over yet. There would barely be time for a night's sleep before the fighting began again. This was war - this was what he lived to prevent.

A hideous crackling noise rent the air.

Medion looked up, his hand on his blade instantly. He knew that sound. It was a miscast Egress spell. He had experienced it firsthand, being pitched into a lake, up a tree, behind the counter of the bar and, in one instance, into the bath while Hedoba was using it. He was lucky, he knew; he had heard the horror stories. People appearing in the center of mountains and suffocating to death, ending up in the middle of enemy lines, even being stuck between places, banished to other realms entirely. Then there was the famous hero who cast Egress and was simply never seen again.

Who did he know who could cast Egress? Synbios was the name that sprang to mind first. Wasn't he supposed to be travelling in the opposite direction? Was it Julian? He should be in Destonia by now! Or maybe it was time to meet up again already. How much time had passed? His confused mind couldn't quite hold on to the thoughts long enough to work it out. His head was spinning... he was dizzy from blood loss, he realised. He really, really needed a healer.

A glint of metal flashed. He turned his blade to parry. Then he felt a searing pain across the back of his head. Sparks filled his vision. He forced himself to dive out of the way and then steady himself. He was in agony. He spat blood and looked up at his assailant.

"You deserved that, you bastard!" said a shrill voice. It was a Goblin, hefting a wrench over his shoulder, a mean look of satisfaction in his eyes. Hadn't Medion seen that Goblin before? He was one of Synbios' Force...

Then the Goblin fell over. Medion picked himself up and walked over to him. He realised that the poor thing was in just as bad condition as he was. Scratching his head, he hefted the Goblin under one arm. Tiny as he was, he weighed less than a child.

"I don't know what you're doing here." he said, "But you can go straight back home. EGRESS!"

"TiaMAT." Noon whispered to himself, pronouncing every syllable with cautious precision, an ancient Elven inflection in his voice, "TIamat. TI-a-MAT! TI..."

The sound of the door opening ruined his concentration. He cursed. He had hoped for a quiet night for once, what with the entire Force down the pub, preemptively celebrating their coming victory. He had plans for tonight. He was going to update his spellbook and prepare a whole new arsenal of spells for tomorrow's battle.

It was Obright, of all people. He and Horst usually lived in the pub. Why, of all nights, had he decided to tear himself away from his flagon to annoy the busy mage?

"Ach, we found the anklebiter." called Obright, barging his way in without bothering to knock. Obright always made short jokes about Ratchet. He was the only person in the Force shorter than the Dwarf apart from Penn, who didn't really count.

"Ratchet? He's safe?" Noon looked up from his book. Obright grunted and deposited the Goblin on the floor before stalking out of the room again.

"Egress spell dumped him here." said Obright, "Wasn't Synbios. He says I've gotta go and find the man who cast it. I just wanna go and finish my pint..."

"You'd better go and do it quickly, then, so you can get back to it." mused Noon. The Dwarf gave him a look.

"... wasn't Ratchet, was it?"

Noon shook his head, "Ratchet's no mage."

The Dwarf gave a sigh of relief that shook his entire body, then stormed off down the street.

Noon examined his friend. He was still alive - barely. He needed urgent healing. Fishing a potion out of his robes, Noon unclamped Ratchet's jaw and forced the liquid down his throat.

"Where on earth have you been?" he asked, stroking Ratchet's fur soothingly. "We found your machine in a valley, surrounded by dead monsters. Don't worry, it only needs a couple of repairs. You need to stop doing things like this just before major battles, you know. You get to see the Colossus up close tomorrow! You don't want to miss that, do you? I've seen the way you look at the Colossus. I wouldn't be surprised if we end up with our own the minute we turn our backs."

Ratchet was too exhausted even to bite the mage in retaliation for daring to touch him. Noon carefully lifted him back into his machine, then went back to his book.

"THANatos." he whispered, "ThaNAtos. ThanaTOS."


	7. Chaos

The control room of the Walcuray was in chaos.

"I DID NOT BREAK IT!" shrieked Desherren, her staff raised protectively in front of her beautiful but cruel face, "It was your fault! I saw you messing with it!"

"It was you! Admit it!" hissed Basanda, "Hey, Bulzome, it was her, wasn't it? She wrecked your machine! Devour her soul!"

"Bulzome's still not responding!" barked Goriate, "He must be doing something that requires his complete concentration!"

"Something more important than getting this thing back under control?" protested Desherren. Then she screamed again as the floor suddenly lurched, pitching her  
off her feet. She began sliding to the opposite corner of the room, towards Basanda, before the machine began swinging erratically in the other direction and she  
slammed into the wall again. Basanda managed to grab hold of the stairs to the raised platform in the middle of the room where Bulzome himself manifested. Goriate  
actually hid under Bulzome.

"What on earth is he doing?" demanded Basanda, yelling over the rumbling noise of the precariously wheeling machine.

"I don't know!" snapped Goriate, "Infernal business! Beyond mortal comprehension! Plans to conquer the world! You know, stuff that Bulzome thinks about!"

Then Fiale teleported into the room. He was holding his favourite sacrificial dagger and his thin bloodless lips were creased into a smile. His orichalcum-lined  
reading glasses still hung from his belt and there were ink stains on his robes.

"I just spilled ink all over my copy of The Law of Bulzome." said Fiale, his dagger glinting in the pale, unnatural light that guttered from torches scattered  
around the room, "My best copy. The one I bound in human skin myself. What in the name of the Vandals is going on?"

"Something's sending the Walcuray completely out of control!" said Goriate.

"Come out from under there NOW!" said Fiale, his tone low, his red eye blazing like a daemonic furnace. The lesser of the Bulzome Four rolled out from his hiding  
place and fell down the stairs.

Fiale sighed and levitated slightly off the ground.

"Is Bulzome still not responding?" he asked. Desherren nodded.

"I'm starting to wonder." said Fiale, "If Bulzome is so engrossed in whatever has caught his attention, that he has lost control of the Walcuray."

"FIALE! I'm surprised at you, being so heretical!" gasped Basanda, "Bulzome can steer the machine and carry out his plans at the same time!"

"Bulzome is not fully awakened." mused Fiale, running a finger across the edge of his blade, "If something is affecting him... something that could impede his  
revival..."

"Bulzome's being attacked?" asked Dessheren, "By what? Gracia? Elbesem?"

Fiale licked the blood from his finger.

"We can't know unless he starts communicating with us again." he said, "But for now... we must reinforce his strength. We must fight the enemy alongside him."

"How can we do that? We can't even control our vessel!"

"I think a sacrifice is in order." said Fiale, "One with a powerful soul. Something to give Bulzome a little... fuel. How's our prisoner?"

"I'll go and get him." said Desherren.

They all waited. Goriate picked himself up and nursed his bruises. The Walcuray had calmed down and was now only rocking gently.

"You know." said Goriate, "We really ought to figure out how this machine works for ourselves. All we know about it is that it needs massive amounts of negative  
energy to work and that Bulzome steers it. If it ever broke down..."

"It won't break down." Fiale assured him, "Bulzome wanted it. He knows how it works and what it does. He tells us what we need to know about it. Bulzome wouldn't  
make a mistake."

"But you just said..."

Suddenly, Desherren teleported back into the room.

"The prisoner's gone!"

--

Meanwhile, Medion was being dragged backwards out of a hedge by a robot.

He had seen a robot before. There was one on his Force. It was a relic from a thousand year old civilisation with technology advanced beyond his wildest dreams. That was about all he knew about them, except how to identify them.

"Robby?" he asked.

The huge metal figure peered at him with blue lights for eyes. Then it bowed as elegantly as a dancer.

"Anaximander. At your service." it said, its voice rapid and slightly staticky. It held Medion up by the scruff of his neck like a puppy.

Of course its not Robby. Robby was in Headquarters, refusing to be fixed as usual. Even someone who didn't get tired or need to eat couldn't have travelled as fast as his Egress spell. How would Robby even know where he was? Medion himself didn't know where he was. He presumed - or at least hoped - that he was somewhere near the Synbios Batallion HQ. It occurred to him that he didn't even know where the Synbios Batallion were at the moment. They could be somewhere in Destonia for all he knew.

Besides, this robot looked different - more human. It was taller and more streamlined, with a more rounded head that had no mouth. It wasn't rusty and didn't clank as it walked, but loped through the grass like a wolf, carrying Medion under one arm. Despite his grace, Medion was being jostled around rather a lot. He still hadn't healed his wounds from the battle, he had been hit with a wrench by an angry Goblin and he felt nauseous from the sudden lurch of the misdirected Egress spell. Every move was agony for him. He tried to reach for his rapier but it wasn't at his belt - he must have dropped it in the bush. He settled for screaming at the top of his lungs.

"HELP, I'M BEING KIDNAPPED!" he shouted, "PUT ME DOWN! YOU CAN'T JUST GRAB AN IMPERIAL PRINCE OFF THE STREET! THE EMPEROR WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD! AAARGH, DON'T DROP ME! MIND THE TREE!"

Anaximander completely ignored him. It ran out of the city gates. The guards at the gates waved at them, one of them laughing. Through his pain, Medion identified their colours as the city of Malorie. His diplomatic education had been drummed into him since he could hold a pen - things like that came to him automatically. They probably either didn't care because they were mercenaries - virtually everyone in Malorie was a mercenary - or they just didn't believe what they were seeing.

What are Synbios' Force doing in Malorie? That's on the other side of the wall! They're virtually our next door neighbours!

His thoughts were interrupted by a jolt that almost knocked him unconscious when his mechanical captor leapt down into a valley. Anaximander sprinted through the thick undergrowth - Medion was already soaked from dew and the low-hanging mist. He followed the valley bottom all the way to the foot of the mountain, where he stopped. There, surrounded by debris where there had been a minor rockfall, Medion saw something even stranger.

It was a diamond-shaped object made of solid purple light. The light did not illuminate anything but seemed to absorb the light around it, casting shadows on the floor. It hummed with some kind of magical energy. It didn't seem malevolent - as far as Medion knew, and he was no priest - merely powerful. The robot walked up to it and touched it.

"Target intercepted. I am returning." he said.

Then darkness washed over Medion.


	8. Robots

Medion woke up to find that he was strapped to a table.

At first he thought he was being tortured. But then he realised that, for the first time in days, he was fully healed.

He examined the room. It was a small diamond-shaped chamber, dimly lit, with a chequered pattern on the floor. Eyes watched him, blue glowing eyes like that of Anaximander. There were around eight robots, three watching him, the others performing different tasks; holding clipboards, adjusting complex-looking apparatus that beeped and emitted blue lights and taking readings.

"The subject has awakened." reported one robot watching him, its eyes directly meeting his.

He wasn't sure what to do in this situation. He knew what to do and say if taken prisoner by, say, the Republican army or the Bulzome worshippers. But not robots. It hadn't cropped up in his training and it had never happened to him personally.

"He is fully repaired with no side-effects." continued the robot. The second robot nodded.

"The anomaly was only a slight redirection. A secondary ripple caused by the distortion." it replied, "Note it down anyway. We need to map every single consequence of the distortion. The effects have spread far."

"Pardon me..." began Medion.

"We should also note that the subject is another manifestation of the Maximilian Phenomenon." said the third, writing something down on a clipboard handed him by a passing robot, "This will make the third sighted in a short period of time, on this continent alone. More than one is very unusual."

"Excuse me..."

"Anaximander, have you made any progress in finding the other target of the Egress spell?" The first robot replied.

Ah, so that's my captor, thought Medion. He found it difficult to tell the robots apart at first but now he could see that Anaximander was in almost perfect condition, while the others, like Robby, could do with some repairs.

"I'm afraid not." he said.

"This is vital to our statistics." said the second robot, "But I understand the difficulty. If the targets were scattered by the redirection, they could be anywhere. And the target is not a Maximilian, so they could be of absolutely any other race and purpose."

Anaximander's eyes glinted and he turned once again to Medion. "Prince Medion." he said, "We do not intend to hold you here. However, we require a detailed description of the second target of your Egress spell."

The Prince's immediate reaction was to refuse to cooperate. It was against his nature to betray an ally, even one who had just smacked him in the face with a wrench, to an unknown force. He wished he understood at least a little of what the robots were talking about. Enough to understand their motivation, at least, or judge their character.

"Incoming!" yelled one of the robots working the equipment. There was an electric crackling and a surge of blue sparks, then another robot appeared in the middle of the room. It was incredibly battered and was carrying a huge leatherbound tome under its arm.

"Novander!" exclaimed Anaximander, saluting.

"I apologise for the delay." it said, dusting itself down, "Turns out your judgement was correct. They weren't nice people at all. They tried to hold me prisoner."

Medion had several things to say about that, but he kept them to himself.

"Our initial hypothesis was correct." he continued, "A large negative energy wave will interfere drastically with an Egress spell. It failed to teleport me and the resulting backlash almost destroyed the machine producing the wave."

"There were secondary ripples." said Anaximander, "Our sensors picked up a redirected Egress spell. I have the full details noted down. Except that..."

"Excuse me, are you the person in charge?" Medion demanded. The robot who called himself Novander looked over at him.

"Anaximander, did you just drag a test subject in here without explaining anything to them?" he glared at the other robot, "I apologise for his behaviour. He hasn't been operational for long. Better than the others, mind you. Yes, I'm in charge of this operation. My name is Novander al Verios Mk. 26."

"Prince Medion."

"Anaximander's abducting royalty now?" Novander shook his head.

"Prince or not, he is a second order Maximilian and he was affected by the distortion." said the robot rather defensively.

"Look, just who do you think you are?" demanded Medion.

"We are the Order of Maximilian." said Novander, handing Anaximander his book with a dismissive wave, "A scholarly order dedicated to finding, researching and eventually preventing the growing distortion in the teleport wave field."

"Pardon?"

"Anaximander tells me your Egress spell failed."

"I was tired. It happens."

"You're very lucky." said Novander, his eyes flaring, "There's a rift opening in the plane you step through when you cast Egress. Its widening. We don't know what's on the other side."

--

Meanwhile, Ratchet was taking a closer look at the Colossus than he had originally planned.

Two Giga Breakers had rushed him at once. He was desperately trying to find a weak spot in their armour while avoiding the swings of their axes. His machine wasn't in good enough condition to take that sort of a battering. He barely had time between waking up and joining the battlefield to perform some rudimentary repairs on the suit and refuel it. Ducking under a swing from one Giga Breaker, he threw his anchor at the second, hitting it in the head. His beady yellow eyes focussed upon the joint under the helmet, he didn't notice the Colossus swing its mighty arm around and knock him off the bridge.

He flailed, pulling and pushing levers while screeching at the top of his voice, but it did no good. He plunged into the icy cold water with a crash. Already his strength was being drained by the cold. He couldn't swim that well at the best of times and the Colossus was stirring up the water as it thrashed around, crushing fighters on both sides. As for his machine, it swam like a rock.

His first priority was disentangling himself from the control panel before he was dragged down with it. Something long, spindly and metal slammed into the side of his machine. It was the Colossus' right leg. He took his opportunity. He clamped his machine's arms around the leg and began hauling himself up it. Now he wasn't sinking. Drowning, freezing to death and far too close to an enemy that could crush him like an ant, but not sinking. He clambered up on top of his machine, now lifted slightly out of the water.

"FYNNDIIIIIIIING!" he shrieked, "ELDAAAAAAR!"

The birdmen did not come to his rescue. Looking carefully, he saw that Eldar was busy stabbing a mage repeatedly and Fynnding wasn't on the battlefield at all - presumably he had gone with the reserve party to sneak around the back of the castle and implement their surprise plan. He looked up at the Colossus, at its impassive face and furious red eyes, as it rained death down on all and sundry. He could feel its mind, its terrible mind, the mind of a war god forged in the stygian depths of Hades. Maybe he could climb it and jump off it onto the bridge? He was much better at climbing and jumping than he was at swimming.

Then he heard Eldar's avian screech and saw him fall out of the sky, hit by an arrow. Synbios saw it too. He began running back and forth along the bridge, waving his arms and yelling orders. The others - there weren't many left now - began picking up the fallen and clustering together. A stupid thing to do, thought Ratchet, you're practically waving a big neon sign saying 'please cast Bolt on us'.

Then he realised what was happening.

"NO! WAIT! I'M OUT OF RANGE! WAIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"

Synbios didn't even look at him. He can't hear over the crashing waves and the infernal noise that the Colossus made, realised Ratchet. Their leader raised his hand. The Force began to disappear from view. Then something else happened. A maelstrom of seething black energy opened up directly in front of Ratchet's face. He barely had time to grab tightly onto his machine before he was dragged screaming through it.


	9. The Goblin Quarter

_You've been summoning me a lot lately._

Noon did not reply. He sat cross-legged on a mat in front of the fireplace next to his desk, his long, thick, grey, intricately-braided hair spilling out over his robes, his eyes closed. The Dragon Queen Tiamat was not physically there but he could feel the touch of its mind, powerful beyond words, a pure flow of energy as limitless as the sky and the sea, a consciousness that was at the same time an intelligence and a filter through which all energy - positive and negative - was converted into the same fuel, so that the mind would ever grow.

_You do understand the price you'll have to pay, don't you?_

Noon nodded.

"I need your assistance in battle." he replied, "Its of dire import. And I'm willing to pay the price."

_So much battle lately. What is happening in the world of mortals that causes such unrest?_

"The world is turning." replied Noon, "We're moving into a new age. The catalyst... its going to happen soon. Can't you feel it too?"

_I have been away from the world of mortals for too long. I can no longer tell what is happening._

Noon's lips creased into a humourless smile.

"You're not alone. Most mortals don't know what's happening any more."

_Come home soon. You're needed._

"I will." he said, "There's no way for me to avoid it."

A loud bang on the door interrupted him from his meditation and his audience with the Summons.

"What is it?" he called, annoyed.

Obright's voice replied.

"We can't find Ratchet!" yelled the Dwarf, "Its your turn to look for him!"

Noon sighed and used his staff to pull himself to his feet.  
"Where was the last place you saw him?"

"He lost sight of him in the battle!"

"Well, send Fynnding to scout the battlefield." said Noon, "I'll search the town. He's probably just taken his machine for a run."

"Got yer!" said Obright, "If ye need me, I'll be in..."

"The pub, yes."

"Aye, gotta raise my morale before the battle!"

"Try and be sober enough to stand up."

Noon hefted his staff and walked out.

He wished he felt as certain as he sounded. Whatever Ratchet had done last time he went missing, he hadn't just gone for a walk. Ratchet was the only person in the Force he knew and understood - as much as you could understand Ratchet. Noon refused to let him go the way of Julian, lost and quickly forgotten.

The obvious place to go if you're looking for a Goblin is the Goblin Quarter.

Most larger towns had one. A town like Aspinia, Destonia or Railhead - especially Railhead - simply couldn't develop or even maintain itself without its most enthusiastic engineers and entrepeneurs. Not in this newer, more fast-paced world. However, true to form, both the Empire and the Republic took them completely for granted. Goblin quarters were very poor places, ramshackle ghettoes with primitive sanitation facilities. However, Goblins being Goblins, they didn't stay that way for very long. Customised beyond all recognition, usually without bothering to ask the guards, they soon became the cutting edge of innovation where rival mad inventors lived side by side, trying to outdo each other with houses that were steam-powered, floated on water, were armour-plated, were golems, recycled their waste, even flew in the air, all lovingly crafted in bright, gaudy colours by architects on drugs. As for trade, you could buy anything. There were Guildhouses but they tended to be just larger concentrations of more of the chaos outside concentrated into buildings that weren't quite big enough.

Malorie's Goblin Quarter was no exception. A little smaller, maybe, because Malorie wasn't quite as impressive as, say, Destonia, and with more mercenaries hanging around, but still a Goblin Quarter. The wooden sign swinging from the gate, painted bright red and blue in the shape of some kind of cloud, told Noon so.

It was midday and prime trading time. As such, it was at its liveliest. Stalls lined the streets, crowded with five-foot-tall traders and customers haggling at the top of their screechy little voices. Goblin children ran through the streets and around the houses in circles. There were loud bangs, fizzles, frustrated yells and even stranger noises coming from the odder-looking buildings. Something flew over Noon's head. There weren't just Goblins either. Other more... misunderstood races gathered here to trade where nobody would take a second glance at them. A Dragonewt blacksmith argued with a Pixie wearing full plate mail over whether the dagger he was trying to sell him was really a custom made Pixie broadsword. Two Dark Dwarves sat on a bench outside a tavern, their red eyes burning as they inspected an axe made of pure Dark Matter. Noon swore that he even saw a Dark Elf. He earned himself a few odd looks, however. An Elf, even an adept mage such as himself, was just too... normal to be wandering around the Goblin Quarters. What did he need here that he couldn't get from uptown?

He was just about to walk over to one of the larger Guildhouses when he saw something that made him blink, rub his eyes and look again.

Walking calmly past him, talking to a robed Goblin with a very long white beard, two Golems flanking them, was Ullud.


	10. Odegan Caverns

After screeching the nastiest epithet in the Goblin language at the top of his voice, Ratchet stood up and dusted himself down.

He was in an underground cavern. The walls, made of some dark blue stone, gave off a ghostly blue aura that illuminated what would otherwise be pitch darkness. He could hear water dripping from a long way above him.

He looked around for his machine but it was nowhere to be seen. Adding another expletive, he ran to the other side of the cavern, his bright yellow eyes darting around as he searched. The cavern was massive. He soon discovered that he was actually on a ledge, one of a series of balconies that ringed a hole that extended upwards and downwards further than he could see. In the middle of the hole was a spiral staircase. There must be a top and a bottom, then, he mused. He looked down into the abyss and saw that the light grew stronger and brighter, collecting together in a cobalt pool. The ledges were dotted with tiny alcoves in the walls. Intrigued, he walked up to the wall of his own ledge, found an alcove at random and threw a stone into it. It clattered off the side of the rock but did not fall back out. He shrugged and poked his head into it. Maybe his machine was in there...

Something made him turn around.

A figure had entered the room, climbing down the staircase. It was a tall human in dark plate mail that seemed to glow that same otherworldly blue as the stone. He hadn't made a sound when he descended the stair. It was more a feeling in the air, a feeling that made Ratchet's fur stand on end. He sniffed. Goblins could smell when something was out of place. This thing smelled powerful. The whole cavern was reacting to the power, coming alive with it. He hid in the alcove and watched the human. If he had noticed Ratchet, he showed no signs of caring. He stopped on the stairwell and looked around, a thoughtful look on his face. The glow was becoming brighter. Suddenly, Ratchet realised that he could hear a noise that was gradually growing louder. It was some kind of music. The energy seemed to pulse to the rhythm of the music, flaring up as the tune became louder. The aura around the man flared up as well, sprouting tiny azure fires that played over his hair, shoulders and fingertips. Ratchet's fur was itching so much that it was driving him mad but he could not bring his eyes away from the dance of the flames. The music was getting into his head as well. It appealed to him on a primordial, informational level, as if it meant something that he understood without thinking.

Then the man erupted completely into flames, the smaller fires whirling around his form, joining with others that had risen up from the floor. His armour appeared to have dissolved. The light grew brighter and brighter until Ratchet was worried he would be blinded. He put his goggles on to shield his eyes but it was no use. He could no longer see a thing...

Then the music faded away and so did the light. He shook his head and opened his eyes again. The cavern looked different. There were stalactites, a pale blue moss grew on the ground and tiny hedgehog-like creatures scuttled in and out of the alcoves.

After a few minutes, he concluded that it was safe to leave his hiding place. He headed towards the stairs again. His machine obviously wasn't in this room at all - the alcoves were too small for it to fit in. The only exit he could see was the staircase.

As he approached the stairs, a pair of red eyes peered out of the darkness and a voice called out to him.

"Identify yourself, intruder!"

--

Five Dark Dwarves stepped out of the shadows. One was female, the others were male. They were dressed quite casually for Dwarves, obviously not for mining or war. Ratchet tensed up. He had met Dark Dwarves before. They shared a long history with Goblins, fighting side by side back in the Dark Ages when both races fought on the side of the Greater Devils. They wanted to be accepted in general society as well as Goblins but humans were less tolerant of them. Dark Dwarves had a society and an attitude to morality that was even less understood than that of Goblins. Most humans simply didn't believe that they weren't evil, especially with their dark blue skin and glowing red eyes. It didn't help that they were still at war with the other Dwarves.

"Its a Goblin!" said the woman, looking surprised, "You don't see Goblins down here!"

"Well, I'm a little lost..." admitted Ratchet, blushing. The woman was beautiful by Dark Dwarven aesthetic standards. Her skin was the colour of the stone, her long, thick auburn hair intricately plaited, her eyes the colour of a roaring inferno. She had a broad, honest smile. Ratchet grinned, showing off his teeth. "I'm Ratchet. Nice to meet ya!"

"Greetings, Ratchet." she said politely, "My name is Helga Landstalker. As for where you are... you're in the Odegan caverns, under the Gudo mountain range."

Ratchet had no idea where that was, except that it was a long way away from Malorie. In fact, he thought it might be on a different continent. Synbios is going to turn me into a rug, he thought, frowning.

"Okay." he admitted, "I'm very lost. You haven't seen my machine around here, have you? Its big, steam-powered and..."

"... smells like someone's been stoking the furnace with the remains of dead things?"

"And it has my charts in it." he finished, blushing again. He was hoping nobody would notice. He had been VERY low on fuel and it WAS the middle of a battlefield. At least they didn't notice what I filled the boiler with, he thought.

"Its safe." she assured him, "We found it lying around so we gave it a polish and put it away where it wouldn't get damaged. Its an ingenious piece of work, isn't it?"

"Thank you." he grinned, "I made it myself."

"Oh? How fascinating! Its a good job I told Angus not to strip it down for scrap metal."

"Could I have it back now?"

"Oh, of course. I'll lead the way right now. Boys, turn around."

A couple of them grumbled. One of them, an older-looking Dwarf with a particularly long beard who wore glasses, looked around carefully.

"The ghost's been out again." he reported.

"Ghost?" asked Ratchet, his whiskers twitching. The man nodded.

"This cavern's haunted." he explained, "Has been since before our clan claimed it as our home."

"Any idea why? Did something happen down here?"

"I have no idea. And I'm supposed to be the clan historian... but this place is very old, boy, it had its own ancient history long before we moved here."

"Sorry for being nosy but... I think I saw the ghost."

"Everyone's seen the ghost." he said, shaking his head, "Don't worry, boy, it won't hurt you. Its the least of your problems down here."

"What do you mean?"

He said nothing but his eyes smouldered. With an irritable wave, he gestured for the woman to lead the way.


	11. Faulty Gods

"Excuse me, sir?"

The halfling turned around to look at Noon, his eyebrows raised, obviously surprised. He scratched his head underneath his tall cleric's hat, trying to put a name to the Elven mage who had stopped him on the street.

"Aren't you Ullud?" asked Noon, "You're on Medion's force, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm their primary healer." he replied, still confused, "How could you possibly know..."

"Its Noon, of the Synbios battalion." the elf introduced himself. Ullud almost accidentally knocked his own hat off.

"I... you..." he stammered, "How did you get... where are you all...?"

"If you would, Ullud..." the old Goblin pulled on the hem of the cleric's robes rather impatiently, "It is rather a dire emergency."

Ullud smiled, "Ah, I'm afraid I'm rather in the middle of something important right now. I wish I could stop and talk. Maybe if you could meet me afterwards..."

"Where in Tiamat's name are you going with all those golems?" demanded Noon, examining one of the lumbering clay giants. It was well crafted and, from what little he knew about golems from the few times he had to summon them and the one time he had to fight one, the magic that bound it to its master's will was firmly in place.

"Oh, just a quick repair job." said Ullud, smiling and following the Goblin and his golems. Noon had to walk briskly to keep up with them. Golems moved surprisingly fast for their size.

"A repair...?"

The Goblin stopped and walked through the bead curtain of a low-ceilinged stone building that looked vaguely like a church. Hung over the arched doorway was a selection of wooden masks with grotesque faces, interestingly shaped stones and large bronze cogs and gears, some of which were broken. Above this was a gaudily-painted stained glass window. Noon couldn't tell what was supposed to be depicted on it.

It took the golems several attempts to fit through the door. The old priest didn't seem to mind when Noon followed them. Inside the building, there was a small room with a very low pulpit and some spaces to sit down - Goblins apparently weren't too keen on standing up to worship. More of the random objects lined the walls, as well as tapestries. Books written in the Goblin language were stacked in piles on the floor.

The priest led them through a back door into a kitchen. It was in havoc. Water was spilled everywhere, half the plates were broken, a barrel of flour was upturned and a golem was walking around the room in a circle, despondently poking the floor with a map.

"I take it this is the broken one." said Ullud, walking up to the golem to have a closer look.

"It was just cleaning the floor, then it went outside to fetch some more water, when suddenly it went wild." said the priest, "Is it something in the water?"

"I doubt it, its not too wet or dry and it looks a healthy shade." said Ullud, tapping the golem with his ankh-headed staff. It swiped it away with its broom and glared at him with two glowing red eyes. He stepped back and inspected its face.

"Ah, I see the problem." he said, "Its activation runes have been chipped."

"Really? How could that happen?"

"Has it had a blow to the head recently?"

"Well..." the old man scratched his head, "It sometimes hits its head on the door... its been told to duck down, but its a new golem and it doesn't always get its timing right."

"If you're going to keep golems, it may be an idea to invest in bigger doors." suggested Ullud, pulling a chisel out of his belt, "Okay, I can fix it this time, but I'll need someone to hold it for me."

"Is it okay to order the other golems to hold it?"

"It shouldn't pose any problems. You should never order golems to attack each other, but restraining is fine." said Ullud.

"You know a lot about golems." said Noon, "I'm impressed."

"All halfling priests have to train as golem-crafters." said Ullud, "Its a tradition. Especially an Ullud. Its quite a prestigious rank, you know."

"Well, you learn something every day." said Noon, "I need to read up on my Halfling history."

"Are you a friend of the Ullud's?" asked the old priest.

"Well, I... I'm only a passing acquaintance."

"What ARE you doing in Malorie Goblin District anyway?" asked Ullud. The golems had grabbed their wayward brother, each tackling an arm each, and were trying to force him to the ground.

"I'm looking for a Goblin by the name of Ratchet." said Noon, "You haven't seen him around, have you? White beard. Wears a flying hat and goggles. Probably tinkering with some kind of steam-powered machine."

"I'm afraid I haven't seen any engineers for a while. I heard that the Guild pulled them in to deal with some big job down in Aspia."

"I don't think he'll have got to Aspia yet." said Noon, "It doesn't move that fast."

"I could pray to the spirits to help you in your search."

"Well... that would be helpful... I suppose..."

Noon had always been sceptical of religion. There were powerful beings in the world - beings that demanded respect - but he had never seen why some were worshipped as 'gods' and some feared as 'Devils' and others not paid any attention at all. All that led to was angry, powerful beings. He allowed himself to be led back into the worship room, leaving Ullud to herd the golems. I'm going to have to question that man properly on what exactly Medion thinks he's doing, thought Noon.

The priest lit some incense, then sat cross-legged behind his lectern and closed his eyes. Noon sat on a mat and listened to the priest's chanting, reciting the name of each God in turn. Goblins apparently had a God of everything, from the big tree in the middle of the forest just to the north of Balsamo to the trans-continental railway. After God number fifty, Noon closed his eyes and felt himself nodding off to sleep.

He was awakened from his half-slumber by a frenzied screech. The priest had jumped up and was now running around the room, desperately trying to extinguish the candles, chanting frantically.

"ANAXIM!" he screeched, "I SAW THE ANAXIM'S FACE! DARKBARGAINER! THE ANAXIM HAS HIM!"

Oh Tiamat, thought Noon, not this Darkbargainer business again.

"Calm down." he sighed, "You're in a building full of golems. Nothing can hurt you. Except possibly golems. Now, breathe properly and tell me what exactly an Anaxim..."

The priest walked up to him and grabbed him by the collar of his robe, his yellow eyes wide with terror, "The world is unfinished, Elf. Other races don't understand that. They think they're perfect. That they've got it right. But nothing is perfect - we aren't, the world isn't, Gods aren't. We Goblins like to keep up with the times. We make new Gods every day. Some of them don't come out right. That's what Anaxim means."

"A faulty... God?"

"Your friend is in great danger." he says, "You need to go to him. Now."

"But I don't know where he..."

"Your friend... has he been, by any chance, banished from the Guild?"

"Maybe." said Noon defensively. He didn't really want to talk about it behind Ratchet's back.

"Yes... yes... I think I know the Goblin you're talking about." the priest bent down to pick up a book, his expression changing from one of fear to a slightly offended look, "With the size of the shadow following him, he won't be too hard to find."


	12. Medion Returns

An alarm sounded.

Suddenly, the robots completely forgot about Medion and their promise to return him safely to his Headquarters. They ran around babbling in technical jargon and fiddling with apparatus. The lights flashed on and off.

"What is going on?" Medion demanded of Novander.

"There's been another huge distortion in the field!" said the robot, running straight past him. He followed him out of the chamber and into a booth with another diamond-shaped object made of light. The robot stepped into it and disappeared. medion followed him. After a bright flash of light and a feeling of slight nausea, he reappeared in a smaller chamber, also filled with machines. The robot sat at a comfortable-looking chair in front of a desk with three large panels on it. On one screen there was what looked like a map of Aspinia, the second was a diagram with flashing blue dots of light of varying size and intensity, the third had words scrolling down it faster than Medion could read.

"Anaximander! Socrates! Someone! Get our guest back home!" yelled Novander, staring at the screen, his eyes flaring with what Medion guessed was the robotic equivalent of intensity.

"What's happening?" repeated Medion, his arms folded, "Is it dangerous? Will it hurt me or my party?"

"Another rift has been opened!" explained Novander.

"Like the one that sent me to the wrong place when I cast Egress?"

"Yes, but bigger!" he said, pointing to the screen with a metal finger, "See? There it is, in the viaducts in front of Aspia castle!"

Medion nodded, his brow furrowed. The front door of Aspia Castle... there was something important there...

"Holy Elbesem! That's where the Synbios Batallion said they were going!"

"If somebody's there, they're in serious trouble!" said Novander, "Where's Anaximander gone? He's the head of the excursion party! I need to know where that thing goes!"

"Never mind your research! My allies might be in trouble! Take me back to Malorie this instant!"

My allies... until I meet them on the battlefield myself, he added mentally, and prayed to Elbesem that it would never happen, that something would occur to stop them having to fight each other. The robot stopped suddenly.

"Well, I suppose I can't blame you for wanting to help your allies. You're just like..." he bowed his head, his eyes flashing on and off once.

"Like who?"

He gave a mechanical droning sound that was almost a sigh, "Like someone I know. Knew. Well... its not really me who knows him. I'm a third generation receptacle for his memories, thats all. But he's... I don't want to talk about it. Its not necessary. Its not like you could possibly have any useful information for us."

"You don't have to tell me if it brings up bad memories." said Medion. What a strange machine, he thought, suddenly acting so human like that.

"I'll show you to the correct transporter for the Aspinia node." said Novander, jumping up and walking briskly across the room. Medion followed him through a seemingly endless network of corridors, rooms and diamond-shaped transporters.

"Soon, even these things will be too unstable to use." said the robot, "Unless we locate the source of the damage and repair it."

"Are you saying I shouldn't cast Egress?" asked Medion, "I need to! It saves my life and that of my Force in battle!"

"Use it sparingly, then." said the robot, "Try and get into less fights. Its good advice in general, I find."

Medion nodded his agreement. Then he walked into the teleporter.

Novander turned and walked back down to his office. He walked straight into a panicked-looking Anaximander.

"Sir, the distortion. We tracked its energy signature."

"Its someone on our records, hm? Who is it this time?"

"Its him again, sir."

"You can't mean..." Novander sighed, "Where is he this time?"

"He's significantly further away this time, sir."

"Where?" repeated Novander.

"Odegan."

--

Medion hit the ground running.

He was grateful for being fully healed by the robots, even though they were very rude. With all the energy of a good night's rest, he felt as though he could run all the way to Aspia. However, that would just get him back to his own party and he imagined that they were fine. The Synbios Batallion were in Malorie and they were in trouble.

He went in the nearest tavern first. His own party were always in the tavern and he imagined the Synbios Force were no different. At a table near the bar, he found someone he recognised as a member of the Synbios Batallion - a mage called Noon. Ullud was with him. Ullud had a large flagon of ale as usual but Noon preferred wine.

"... been missing ever since we defeated Garvin in the battle with the Great Tank."

"That was you?" Noon whistled, impressed, "You destroyed that monstrosity?"

"It wasn't easy." said Ullud, "I had to treat some nasty injuries after the battle. Medion was badly wounded when I lost sight of him. That's why I'm so worried..."

"Ratchet told me he doesn't like him." said Noon, "That must be why... He likes machines. I think he was fond of that tank."

Ullud rolled his eyes. "Goblins..."

He drained his pint and fished in his pouches for some more money. Then he stood up and walked to the bar again.

"Ullud." said Medion, walking up behind him. The halfling dropped his empty flagon.

"You're b... back, sir?" he stammered, "What a relief! We were all worried about you! Let me look at those wounds..."

"No need." said Medion, still looking concerned despite being happy to see his primary healer again, "I see you've met up with the Synbios Batallion."

"Well... just one of them. Noon's looking for..."

"Are they all okay? Did they go to the Viaducts?"

"They're... they're all fine. Had a hard time in battle, I think. Had to Egress out..."

"Had to WHAT?"

"What are you looking at me like that for, Medion? I said they're all fine. So are we. We were worried about you. What in Elbesem's name do you think you..."

"You're absolutely sure NOTHING happened?"

"Well..." said Noon over his shoulder. He had wandered over to them and picked up Ullud's flagon, and he was now cleaning it with a look of slight irritation on his face, "Ratchet's missing."

"Ratchet?" asked Medion, "The despicable piece of work who hit me on the head with a wrench?"

"Ratchet hit you over the head with a wrench?" Noon asked, trying to hide a splutter of laughter, "He didn't tell me THAT! I wonder if he thinks he'll be punished..."

"Holy Elbesem..." said Medion, "I was carrying him... when that Egress spell went wrong..."

"WHAT Egress spell?" demanded Ullud, "What have Synthesis and I told you about..."

"Ratchet's in trouble." said Medion, "There's someone we have to go and see."


	13. Rockfall

The tunnel was pitch dark, narrow even for a Goblin, the heat was stifling and it seemed to lead diagonally upwards at a steep angle. Ratchet was exhausted when he finally reached the top. Helga had insisted they take this short cut, even though there were perfectly serviceable routes through vaulted halls with brightly burning hearth fires. He didn't understand the urgency, even though he missed his machine. It wasn't going to go anywhere.

At last, they reached the workshop. It was another large chamber full of workbenches. Toolboxes were neatly stacked and a few Dark Dwarven mechanics were working on their own projects, making explosives for a mining expedition. On a raised platform near a forge in one corner of the room was Ratchet's machine. He grinned, a toothy smile. It had been repaired, even cleaned and polished until it looked brand new. These Dwarves knew what they were doing!

"Thank you, miss!" he said, walking towards it, "However can I repay you?"

"Oh, you won't need to worry about that." she said, "You'll become very useful to us in due time."

"Wh... what do you mean by that?"

The Goblin sniffed the air. The fur on the back of his neck prickled. He could smell trouble. His keen ears picked up the sound of the lock on the door clicking shut. Angus, a burly Dwarf who shouldered an axe, walked towards him. He made a grab for the shortsword he wore at his belt but he was roughly grabbed and his arms pinned to his side.

"Nice machine you've got there, Goblin." said Angus, "Why don't you make more?"

"What would I need two for?" snapped Ratchet.

"For an army." replied the Dark Dwarf, leaning on his axe, "An army that will march against the inferior Dwarven clans, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake."

"Co-operate and you'll be rewarded handsomely." said Grendel, "You'll be made one of our generals. You'll go down in the annals of Dark Dwarven history as the great leader of the Steam Knight Brigade."

"And if I don't co-operate?"

"You'll be chained to the workbench and you'll make them anyway."

Something snapped in his head. Ratchet's eyes went bloodshot. His body quivered and his teeth peeled back into a snarl. Before the Dwarves holding him could react, he bit deeply into the hand of the one on the left, almost severing the bone. His captor screamed and released him. Ratchet moved like a shot. His sword had been removed from him but they hadn't taken his wrench - presumably because he needed it to build the machines. He grabbed it and kneecapped the nearest Dwarf with it until they fell over. Then he darted towards his machine. The other Dwarf tried to grab him and got a wrench to the crotch. While he was stunned, Ratchet grabbed him by the throat, pushed him against the machine and used him as a stepladder to get into the cockpit.

"You don't force a Goblin to build something!" he snarled, pulling the lever. It responded instantly. It worked as well as it looked. "You beg him to stop!"

Angus stood fearlessly in front of the machine and took a swing at it with his axe. He dented it badly but nowhere nearly bad enough to deactivate it - it stood on him with a sickening crunch!

"Stop him!" yelled Helga, "We can overpower him if we all rush him together!"

"Nobody chains me to a workbench unless I ask them to!" added Ratchet as he located the dial on the side of his control panel that he kept at 1 and cranked it up to 5. It made a noise like a chainsaw, then stampeded across the room, straight for the door. It bowled over three Dwarves who tried to charge it.

Then one of the more sensible mechanics grabbed one of the bombs and threw it at him.

The explosion would have deafened Ratchet if he didn't wear ear protectors anyway to drown out the constant racket that his machine made. However, he felt his machine stop responding as the tremor knocked its feet out from under it. He swore in the most high-pitched screech he could manage.

Then there was another noise. A loud rumbling.

"A rockfall!" yelled Helga, "Idiots! Look what you've done! Everybody brace themselves!"

Ratchet hid under his machine as the ceiling began to cave in. He could hear the thuds as chunks of stone fell everywhere, mingled with the loud yells of the Dwarves. He prayed that his machine wouldn't be further damaged. It had only been repaired as well! Oh well, he told himself, that's what you get for building a battle tank.

Then the floor began rumbling too. Helga screamed as the floor began breaking apart under her feet. Ratchet changed his mind and scrambled back into the machine, ducking as far down as he could to try and avoid the debris raining down upon him. Then a hole opened up underneath him and he plummeted down into darkness...

And an infinity of pale blue light.

The voice was calling him again.

_Manipul..._


	14. Into the Portal

The ranks of the Synbios and Medion Battalion looked impressive stood together on the banks of the Aspia Castle Estuary. The birdmen circled the skies, looking for any sign of Ratchet and carefully avoiding the surging vortex of energy that had appeared halfway in and out of the water. There was absolutely no difference between the part that was in the water and the part that wasn't, as though the laws of physics were warping around it.

Medion was used to addressing large crowds. He may have been the youngest prince, entrusted with the least responsibility, but he had still commanded units twice this size in his time. He concentrated on keeping his own Force in line while Synbios did the same with his. There was little discussion between them - Medion could sense the tension between the more hardened Imperial and Republican soldiers. Maybe it was best to keep them separate for now, thought Medion.

Robots surrounded the portal, taking readings on their instrument, speaking their usual technical jargon and preventing anyone from straying too close. Everyone except Noon, who refused to leave. The others were satisfied with a warning to keep away and not to cast Egress until the rift closed, but the mage stood and harassed the guards relentlessly. Novander stood directly in front of the portal, Anaximander at his side.

"He's definitely in there." said Novander, "I can sense it."

"Who?" asked Noon, "Ratchet?"

Novander shook his head. "I don't know about him. But if he was here and someone cast Egress on him, he may well be beyond that portal."

"Then we have to go and check!"

"It would be highly dangerous to..."

"Do we look like we can't handle danger to you?"

"You don't even know if your friend is on the other side of the portal!" said Novander, "You don't know anything about those portals at all! It could open anywhere! Inside a volcano, two hundred feet in the air..."

"You can sense the other person, can't you?" snapped Noon, "Well, he can't be dead then!"

"Even if you do survive, every time you use one of those portals, it destabilises the plane further!"

"Then I won't make a habit of using them."

"You don't need to go!" said Novander, "I promise you that we will look for Ratchet. We have mechanical bodies. We have backup copies of our minds. We can survive a lot more than you can, and we are expendable!"

"Like hell you could! You don't even know any good spells!" said Noon, hefting his staff, "What's all the fuss about Egress? Even Synbios can cast Egress! I can summon Tiamat!"

"I'm sorry, Noon, but I won't lose another." said Novander. Signalling to the others, he jumped through the portal. The remaining robots made a physical wall between Noon and the portal. Two were fried by a well-aimed bolt of lightning from the sky but the other five managed to pin Noon to the ground, forcing his arms behind his back. He felt a pinprick of heat concentrated on the nape of his neck.

"This is a laser." explained Anaximander, "I could kill terminate your life with it. But I am under orders not to kill under any circumstances. I will merely disable you and leave you to the attention of the healer of your choice, should you appear to be casting a spell."

"What about the ones I've already cast?"

"Please clarif..."

Suddenly, Anaximander's ocular device widened as he realised he was sitting in a patch of shadowy darkness. He heard loud, powerful wingbeats overhead. He looked upwards just in time to see a magnificent dragon, its scales of pure energy shimmering with all the colours of the rainbow, rear its head and roar. The sound shook the very ground under his feet, rippling the water and even whipping up the fabric of the portal, causing strands of frothing monochrome spray to fall away from it like fiery candle wax.

Then the dragon breathed.

It wasn't fire that came out of its mouth, it was a torrent of the same pure energy that made a noise somewhere inbetween an ocean full of water being flushed down a massive drain and Ratchet's machine malfunctioning. The robots simply fell limp onto the floor, some crushed under the weight of the energy, some disintegrated completely, none of them with their BIOS data intact. Noon hauled a robot away from on top of him and stood up, dusting himself down and shaking his hair out of his eyes.

Tiamat stopped and hovered just in front of him, the massive dragon almost touching the water in order to meet eye level with him.

_You owe me an even bigger favour now,_ it spoke into his mind.

_I know._

The dragon sniffed the portal.

_That thing isn't right._

_I know._

_What are you going to do about it?_

_I can't do anything right now. I need to find Ratchet._

_Is he on the other side of that portal?_

_I think so._

_Then good luck finding him. I'm not going through there. I've got work to do here, and besides, if that's what I think it is, causing these rifts, I don't want to be banished too._

_What do you mean?_

_Call me when you get to the other side, if you need me, okay?_

_You haven't answered my question._

Turning gracefully in mid-air, Tiamat flew high into the sky until he was merely a glimmer reflected in the sun.

Noon turned around to face the two bands of warriors.

"Synbios. Its my turn to go and find Ratchet. So that's what I'm off to do. Masqurin's in charge of magic until I return. She's skilled enough now not to make too much of a botch job of it."

"Medion." he added, "You have your Force to lead. Whatever it is you're doing. Thank you for the help. But you've not travelled with Ratchet before. You haven't a hope of finding him when he goes missing. I'll come back and continue my conversation with you soon, Ullud, and I want some straight answers!"

The halfling just smiled and waved at him. Turning his back on the two parties, he hefted his staff and jumped into the portal.


	15. Breaking the Seal

_Manipul..._

Ratchet's descent was slowed as he was engulfed by the mysterious light until he was suspended there, floating. He could still hear the voice calling him, soft, female, beckoning. Curiously, he pulled a lever. His machine moved forwards as though he was on solid ground. He walked for a short while. In the blue nexus, it was impossible to tell how far or for how long he walked. _Put one foot in front of the other,_ he told himself, i_t'll work out. It always does._

Eventually he made out a few shapes in the distance: a massive double door, about ten times his size, and several human figures standing around it. One acted like a leader - he was directing the others to stand in specific places. Ratchet recognised him as the ghostly apparition he had first seen in the cavern he woke up in. They all looked the same - young men, with long, unkempt hair, with the look of a warrior.

The man walked up to Ratchet and regarded him with a distant gaze. His voice sounded as though it came from far away.

"We are all here at last." he said, "It is time to open the door."

Ratchet looked up at the door. There was no handle. He doubted he could force the door open, even with a big bomb. As he as about to say this, the man turned to the door, spread his arms out and started chanting.

"Sele 1y 1k!" he said.

"Push a nothing!" replied the others in unison

"Sele 1y 1k!"

"Push a nothing!"

"SELE 1Y 1K!"

"PUSH A NOTHING!"

As the odd chant grew to a crescendo, the light flared up. Through the piercing light, Ratchet could just about see the door swing slowly open.

"Now you must kill the guard." said the man.

"What... me? What guard?" Ratchet looked around, confused. He had never killed a guard before, although he had come close when his machine went out of control and almost ran one over.

"You do not know of your Legacy?" he asked, "Never mind. You will see soo enough. There is no other way to go. Not now."

He walked over to the door and motioned for the others to follow him. They started filing in through the door.

"Finally, our debt is to be repaid." he said, bowing his head, "So many generations... all of us, sharing the same soul, the same borrowed life... the same geas... the same exile... now I know. How to break the curse. I've found the way out for us all."

"Pardon me, but... who exactly ARE you?"

"I am Maximilian Taylor." he said, "And this is Arthur, Bowie, Deanna, Arthur the Second, Ian, Julian... Light, we're all here... that there's Mars Doragor. THE Mars Doragor. He makes me look like a fresh-faced novice."

Ratchet almost dropped his wrench. Those names... they were names heard only in legend! Heroes of mythical proportions, some of them almost deified, people he wasn't even sure he believed existed. This has to be some kind of parlour trick... he snarled and held his wrench protectively in front of his face.

"Good. Be on your guard. This journey isn't quite over yet." said the man who claimed to be Max. Then he turned around and walked through the door.

Ratchet took another look around. After a few minutes, he admitted that there was no other exit and charged through the door after them.  
--

"I don't believe this."

Noon crept up to the robot. He was talking to himself as he examined his surroundings in rapt fascination - so engrossed that he didn't notice the mage sneaking up on him. Noon had to admit that it was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. The walls were made of metal. Every inch of the place was lined with machines - displays, switches, artificial lights and things he didn't recognise at all, like a room full of large red glass domes that flowed with images and pictures. There was a strange atmosphere here - one of perfect order, that everything was controlled, artificial, timed precisely up to the nanosecond. It was peaceful in its own way, despite being so alien. This was not an environment in which things went wrong. Time - time was so intensive here, so immanent. The place oozed time.

The mage walked straight up to the robot and placed his staff in the small of its back.

"Your weakness is Bolt 4." he said in a low voice, "Its most people's weakness, to be fair. Nobody likes being reduced to a charred pile of ash on the floor. But metal things..."

"I see our efforts were to no avail." said Novander, sighing.

"Your minions hurt me."

"Well, there's nothing that can be done now." said Novander, "You're here."

"I demand an explanation. Now."

"I'm afraid I don't know entirely what's happening myself." said Novander, "I have no idea where this is. It appears to be an old facility similar to the Shining Path!"

"The ancient civilisation?"

Novander nodded, "We were manufactured in a similar facility."

"Then you're thousands of years old?"

He shook his head, "The factory is still running. I was only recently created."

"Ratchet would love this place." mused Noon, "Is he here?"

"I don't know. All I know is that the man I have been looking for has passed through here." he bowed his head, "We will have to explore further."

"I'll accompany you for now." said Noon, "But betray me once and that move will be your last."

Together, they walked through the facility, Novander studying everything intently, Noon searching for his companion. Not that he would be hard to spot. Wherever he is, he's probably wrecked it already.

"I used to be a powerful mage myself." said Novander, pressing a few buttons on a terminal. He was rewarded with an unfriendly noise and a red flashing message that said 'Access Denied', "But that was a long time ago. This body won't channel magic. It doesn't have a proper spirit."

"You weren't always a machine?" asked Noon as they walked into another long metal tube-shaped corridor. It led upwards. They climbed higher and higher until they emerged on a platform overlooking the previous floor. Pipes everywhere led back down.

"This is the third body I've transferred all my memories and personality into." he said.

"So you're immortal?"

"Only if my body is not destroyed." he said, "I doubt I will survive forever. Besides, I will switch off once my quest is complete."

"What exactly is your quest?" asked Noon.

"My companion went missing." said Novander, "Due to a severely botched Egress spell. He came back. It took me ten years to find him. However, he wasn't the same. He kept disappearing. He went somewhere. Somewere else apart from his destination. He kept ranting and raving about it in his sleep. Then he disappeared for a long time again."

"So you want to find out what's happened to him?"

The robot nodded.  
"He's here." he added.

"Where?"

"Here..."

Before Noon could act, the robot jumped down one of the pipes. Noon followed him. He half ran, half fell down the steep corridor. They emerged on a balcony overlooking a large square chamber. The ceiling was too high to see. One wall was absolutely covered in wires, thick black cables leading to and from a huge machine.

At the foot of the machine, looking like ants compared to its vastness, stood several men and one familiar heavily armoured Goblin.

"Ratchet!" yelled Noon.

"Max!" yelled Novander.

--


	16. Legacy

"Nova?" The young man turned around. "I thought I told you never to follow me!"

"What the...?" cried Noon as he recognised the man for himself.

"Max, what are you doing here?" demanded the robot, "Where is this?"

"You're about to see for yourself!" declared Max. He turned to the machine and raised his glowing green sword. Then he carefully inserted it into a lock on the front panel of the machine and twisted it. There was a low humming sound and the panel opened up, revealing a tangled mass of wires and...

A diamond of solid black and white light. It rotated slowly. Inside it, Noon could see a tiny female figure with wings. A fairy? Did they really exist? What was one doing in a machine? For that matter, what was Noon doing in a machine?

Suddenly, a loud siren sounded and all the lights in the building flashed red. Noon swore and began muttering an Elven meditation chant to himself in order to lower his heart rate. A disembodied voice was repeating the words 'Warning: Critical Security Violation.' over and over again.

"Max, don't! Do you realise what you're doing?" yelled Nova.

"The legacy." said Max, his voice slightly hypnotised. He swung his sword around and attacked the crystal.

As soon as he did so, Nova's eyes went red. He stretched his arm out and a bolt of laser fire shot at Max, who dodged it easily.

"Critical Security Violation! Intruders marked for delete!" said Nova mechanically. Then he jumped off the platform, lunging at Max. The warrior swung his sword around. The blade scraped across metal, leaving a deep gouge. His eyes darted around. Robots similar to Nova were climbing out of the pipes and jumping off the balconies, echoing Nova's chant.

Noon hefted his staff before him in a martial stance, already halfway through a Protect spell incantation. His mind reached out to try and sense Tiamat's presence. A couple of robots attacked him and were reduced to a pile of charred ash by a well-aimed Bolt spell. They were more interested in the swordsmen standing around the machine than him. They were all more than capable of defending themselves; Noon had never in his life seen such adept swordsmanship, even from the most elite Generals of the Imperial Army. They cut down swathes of robots, their blades flashing, their battlecries like the roars of demons. He could almost believe that they really were the legendary heroes they claimed to be. However, each time one was dismembered, three more seemed to pour in from somewhere in the facility to replace them. They were being surrounded. Max himself was also obviously preoccupied with protecting the diamond-shaped thing, with not letting any robots near it. Noon couldn't tell which side would win.

Then he heard a familiar, almost frenzied screech.

Throughout the battle, Ratchet had been mostly hiding in a corner. Like Noon, he wasn't being enthusiastically attacked and his steam suit tore apart anything that got near him. Suddenly, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he began screaming as if possessed.

Then there was a flash of light and the mist started rising.

--

_Manipul..._

Ratchet was no longer in control of himself. It was as if he was watching his own body from very far away. As if it was a tool he was holding in his hand, not a part of him. Except that it wasn't him moving his hands to operate the controls of his machine. It was somebody else. Another voice, another mind. He had always thought it was within his machine... that his machine was alive... that all machines spoke to him. But now he saw the truth - that this one mind, this person inside the machine, could get inside all the machines and speak to him.  
_  
Manipul, its time. Kill the guards. Set me free..._

He could hear the words coming out of his mouth but it wasn't him speaking them. He didn't understand any of it. It wasn't a language that anybody spoke... an ancient, dead language... no, a new one, one that didn't exist yet.  
_  
The future. Your future. Your future that you made. The dark bargain, come to fruition._

The dark cloud was rising. Through the portal, stained black by the maelstrom of surging energy within it, so deep that light could not penetrate it. Energy from planes that had only just been breached.

Rising... blinding him... choking him... no, he had to remain in control... his arms a blur of motion, desperately steering his machine into position, fighting off the attackers while he chanted the words that would summon Him through. They were all attacking him now. He was the bigger threat. One of the legs were buckling... he didn't have much time...

Screaming until he thought he would tear his voicebox. The portal writhed, flared outwards, enveloping him completely in the dark clouds. Water... he hears water in the distance, gently lapping against the coast. The noises... all the deafening noises... it was like listening to his machine on a particularly bad day, but all around him.

Then he saw a figure step fearlessly through the portal. The outline of another young man, similar to the ones he had seen except, for some reason, he was wearing a hat like Ratchet's and his sword kept moving. Or was it just an illusion, a trick of the light where the pale sunbeams played on the mist?

Ratchet held out a desperate arm, mouthing words, his voice ruined.  
_  
Are you sure you want to go back yet, Manipul?_

He stared at the source of the voice, his eyes open wide. __

There's plenty of time. Take a good look around. Soon this will not be possible again. You will all have forgotten everything, everyone will return to their own place and time, and I... I who once administrated worlds... who moved one tiny soul a fraction of a nanometre away from their destiny and was punished with eternal banishment... I will go elsewhere, away from persecution. But for now, let the laws of nature cease to exist and the world of Aspinia come to an end.

Wh... what? What are you...  
  
_Come to know the depths of your sin, Manipul._

This? This is a sin?

But its so...

Beautiful...

--


	17. The Fairy of Gudo Valley

Throwing another Bolt spell at a small gang of robots, Noon leapt off the balcony, using a minor levitation spell to slow his fall and allow him to land close to his friend. Ratchet had gone berserk, screaming in a language Noon doubted was Goblin, his machine a whirlwind of destruction beneath the Goblin's skilled hands. Is it safe to get close to him? Noon threw a Protect spell around them both before punching a hole through a robot's chest with a Freeze spell and using its useless shell to climb up and face Ratchet on his level, praying that the crazed Goblin still recognised him. The smoke was growing so thick that he could barely see Ratchet's face.

Then the portal surged. His Elven reflexes took over and he rolled out of the way to avoid being swallowed by the portal. Something stepped out. It was another of them... another of the swordsmen. Noon knew his ancient history and he could recognise the others as being Prince Nicholas of Cypress, Kain 'Megiddo' Taylor or... was that Julian just now? He didn't recognise this man at all. He was dressed... well, a little like Ratchet, and his sword was decidedly odd.

He stopped, looked down at his sword, cranked the handle up to the fifth notch, looked up at the robots with an almost lupine, bloodthirsty smile and charged screaming into the fray.

Within minutes, the tide of the battle had turned. Something about the newcomer had broken the robots' morale. Maybe it was his strangeness, or maybe the numbers of the ferocious swordsmen had simply grown too large for them to cope with. They were retreating, staying clear of the roaring blade that sliced with such ease through flesh and metal alike. Max turned to Mars and handed him the green glowing blade. He walked up to the diamond of light and cut into it with the delicacy of a chef filleting a fish.

Rays of light began streaming from it, faster and faster until the whole structure shattered like glass. The fairy-like creature slowly unfurled her wings, fluttered them experimentally a few times, ripped a couple of wires out of the back of her head and launched herself into the sky.

--

"It is over now." she announced in a voice so full of utter clarity that Noon could not imagine anything being stated in that voice except truths fundamental to the Universe. It was as if her very words were programming reality even as she spoke like some sort of celestial livecoding, "It is over for you all. You no longer need to continue."

"B... but Nova..." whispered Max, kneeling and inspecting the piles of scrap metal heaped up around the chamber.

"Is going to the same place as you will eventually. Don't worry."

"I... I can't lose another..."

"You have Ian to look after, remember. And Max is still alive. He is not in this facility. He is too faulty to follow his programming."

Max fell to the floor, a strangely resigned look on his face, like a man who had never surrendered before in his life suddenly learning of the existence of the concept. Then a bright blue aura of light engulfed him and he slowly disappeared. One by one, the apparitions of the swordsmen followed him until only Mars and the one from the portal were left.

"Its okay. The deal is complete. You can leave now."

"Thank you." said Mars. He bowed, then disappeared.

"You'll exist soon. I swear by the Holy Archive. There's a man working to create your future."

"But I don't like my..."

"It'll work out." she promised, "It'll hurt but you'll survive. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

The man shrugged, hefting his sword over his shoulder and walked into the portal.

--

Noon looked around.

"Where's Ratchet?" he asked.

"It is not over yet for Ratchet." she said, "His legacy does not yet even begin."

"What in Tiamat's name are you talking about?" he asked.

"Tiamat? You pray to such a minor authority?" she laughed, "Ah well, at least you don't stoop so low as to invoke Elbesem."

"Just tell me where Ratchet is, okay? He's lost, tired, he could be hurt... I need to bring him home. Its my turn to find him."

"He will return when he is finished. He is not in any danger. He is quite enjoying himself where he is."

"If its so great there, I think I'll go through the portal myself and visit him!"

"I would not advise such an action. There are things you do not want to know."

"Oh, I'm a scholar. I want to know EVERYTHING." he said, folding his arms, "Knowledge about Ratchet... that's invaluable! He never tells anyone anything about himself!"

"You do not want to share his vision of the future."

"I'm his travelling companion. When he decides to force his darkest future upon us all, I doubt I'll have much choice."

"So, you want a choice about your future as well?" she asked, "And do you realise the price you have to pay? To go against your destiny? To heal the wounds you leave behind as the Universe repairs itself? Do you want to become another incarnation of Mars?"

Noon stopped and played nervously with one of his braids, his brow creased in thought. An incarnation came almost involuntarily into his head.

"Rise, Tiamat!" he yelled.

With a shatter of glass and a bending and tearing of metal, the dragon swooped down from the sky, showering them all with the remains of the roof. Tiamat hovered in front of Noon.

_So_, it said, _she's free._

_Is this another one of those things where I accidentally unleash a dark evil and have to go on a quest to seal it again?_

_I wouldn't worry about her. She's not evil. Powerful but not evil._

_Have you seen a Goblin around here?_

_Ratchet will be fine. We must leave now. This plane will soon cease to exist. It is a prison. There is no longer a prisoner._

_Do you realise how much trust I'm placing in you right now?_

_We have a summoning pact,_ said the dragon with the mental equivalent of a shrug. Then its head darted forward and it picked Noon up by the scruff of his neck like a hound picking up her puppies. Inclining its head respectfully to the Fairy of Gudo Valley, it jumped back into the air and flew away.


	18. Epilogue

"What're you making, Ratchet?"

The Goblin looked up from his work and took his goggles off to regard Noon with an almost impish grin. The mage had found him in the Mithril Smith's shop, of all places. He had expected to find him either wandering around the city walls in his machine or in a tavern in the Goblin Quarter, buying something illegal. Instead, he had taken over the forge, bribing the Smith to go off somewhere and was now bent over a shortsword with a hammer and anvil.

"Its a..." Ratchet scratched his head, "Its a... er... new, improved sword!"

The mage sighed, "And what's wrong with swords? They work fine as they are, Ratchet, they don't need upgrading!"

"But this one has rotating teeth!" said Ratchet, grinning to show Noon his own teeth, "And its steam powered!"

"I don't think its going to catch on." said Noon, looking down at the blade, already mutated beyond recognition._ I hope that one's a faliure and its not actually supposed to look like that_, he told himself.

"Nah, I'll make millions!"

"Of enemies." said Noon, "Look, Ratchet... I need to go off somewhere. You'll be okay on your own, right?"

"Come back soon!" said the Goblin, "Synbios won't like it if his best mage isn't there for him in battle!"

"We're going on a boat to Destonia. How many pitched battles are we going to have on a boat? Even if we do get into a naval battle, it'll be with cannons." he said, "I can catch up with you all."

"Keep safe!"

"Oh, I'll be in good hands!" Noon promised him, before walking out of the shop.

He walked out through the town gates and onto a hill, where sat in meditation and waited. After a few minutes, he heard the flapping of wings and a shadow descended upon the hill, darkening the grass.

_Its time._

Wordlessly, Noon stood up. The dragon lowered his head and allowed Noon to climb up onto its long neck. Then it soared into the sky again. Soon, the town of Malorie was only a distant pinprick in an endless expanse of emerald and azure. The railway line was a thin streak that snaked along the map. Remotest - the tiny frozen world that was both the capital of Elbesem and Bulzome worship - was a sliver of white. As he always did, Noon took a careful look at the tiny island, a long way off the coast. It wasn't on any map he had ever seen. What the hell was it?

His attention was diverted as the dragon suddenly plummeted down again. Noon shut his eyes - he hated it when Tiamat did that. After a few minutes, the dragon came to a stop and hovered there.

_You have a lot of work to do, _it said, _we have few caretakers._

_I have to go back again soon, but I'll do the best I can._

_I understand. _

The mage shook his head, trying to shake away the last of his nausea. Then he opened his eyes and stood up. In the midday sun, the bones of the dragons glinted a fiery silver in the dragon graveyard.


End file.
